


Before and After Standford

by lettered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/lettered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of conversations.  The beginning of each conversation is before Sam went to Stanford, the other half of each conversation is after Sam went to Stanford.  It's like Good Idea/Bad Idea on Animaniacs, except with more Virginia Woolf and Metallica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before and After Standford

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Owe so much to [](http://my-daroga.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://my-daroga.dreamwidth.org/)**my_daroga** that it's hard to believe it's mine.

* 

**Before Stanford**

“What’re you doing?”

“Reading.”

“What’re you reading?”

“Virginia Woolf.”

“‘A sixteen-year-old Elizabethan boy’—dude, you are so gay.”

“No, I’m not.”

“‘Turns into a girl’—yes, you are.”

“Give it back.”

“Sammy’s in the closet. Sammy’s—”

“Stop it.”

“You know, this explains a lot.”

“Shut up. I’m not gay.”

 

**After Stanford**

“What’re you doing?”

“Reading.”

“What’re you reading?”

“Virginia Woolf.”

“Oh my God. Not more of that trans stuff. You are so gay.”

“You can think that if you want to.”

“Dude. I said you’re gay.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

“I said you’re _gay_.”

“You think whatever you want to, man.”

“But I said you’re gay.”

“Sure, Dean.”

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“I’d give her about a six.”

“A six?”

“What? That’s still good enough to fuck.”

“You’re giving her a six, and you still wanna fuck her?”

“Why, what would you give her?”

“I dunno, man.”

“Come on, Sammy. What would you give her?”

“I dunno. Like an eight.”

“Oh. Would you fuck a six?”

“Dude, I said I didn’t know.”

“But you’d fuck an eight.”

“I don’t want to fuck her.”

“What the hell? You gave her an eight!”

“That doesn’t mean I want to fuck her!”

“What’s it gotta be, then?”

“Man, I don’t know.”

“Come on, Sammy. What’s it gotta be?”

“A ten, I guess.”

“A ten? It’s gotta be a ten before you lay hands on that ass?”

“I don’t know, whatever, Dean. You made me answer.”

“Well, excuse me for not being so _discerning_.”

“Whatever, man. You go fuck your six.”

 

**After Stanford**

“I’d give her about a six.”

“Right.”

“What? That’s still good enough to fuck.”

“Okay.”

“Why, what would you give her?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I’m not giving her a number.”

“Give her an eight. You always give everyone an eight.”

“Fine.”

“You do.”

“Whatever.”

“What do you mean, whatever?”

“I mean I’m not giving a girl a number, Dean.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because it’s disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful to who?”

“Wow.”

“Come on, Sammy. Disrespectful to who?”

“Dude, to women. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Seriously?”

“Whatever.”

“I mean, seriously? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Dean, I’m not telling you what to do. I’m telling you what I’m doing.”

“Are you seriously telling me we’re respecting women now? How are you supposed to fuck someone you respect?”

“You are so messed up in the head.”

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“ _Terminator 2_. Hands down. Best movie ever made.”

“Oh, come on. _Alien_.”

“ _Terminator 2_.”

“You just think Linda Hamilton is hot.”

“You just think that Ripley chick is hot.”

“No, I don’t. Come on, Dean. It’s high concept.”

“ _Aliens_ , that’s high concept. _Aliens 3_.”

“Dude, do you even know what high concept means?”

“It means it’s deep and shit.”

“No. _Jaws_ is high concept.”

“ _Jaws_ is a damn fine movie, Sam.”

“You identify with John Connor.”

“John Connor is a girly whiny douche.”

“You think Arnold is a badass.”

“T-1000 is a badass.”

“I like the cat.”

“What?”

“Jones. In _Alien_. I like how there’s a cat.”

“The fuck?”

“She risks everything for it. And it’s just a cat. But it’s all she has and it ends up being more important than the other humans, because the cat is hers. She feels responsible for it.”

“Sometimes I don’t think I even know you.”

“We can do a Terminator marathon, Dean.”

“No. We’re gonna do _Alien_.”

“Really?”

“Whatever, you’re a nerd.”

“Not _Resurrection,_ though. That one sucks.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“It does have Winona.”

“I’m not stupid, Sam. Even for Winona.”

“Just checking.”

 

**After Stanford**

“ _Terminator 2_. Hands down. Best movie ever made.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay.”

“I know what you said. What happened to _Alien_?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my favorite any more.”

“What?”

“It’s not a big deal. We can do the Terminators if you want. I never did see _Rise of the Machines_.”

“What were you doing at college?”

“You said it sucked.”

“It did suck. What were you doing?”

“I don’t know. Watching other movies.”

“So you stopped liking _Alien_.”

“I still like _Alien_ , Dean. I still like all of them.”

“Fine then. Alright. What’s a good movie?”

“Dean—”

“No, I want to know. Tell me. What’s a good movie?”

“ _The Last Picture Show_.”

“I—what is that? What the hell even is that?”

“It’s—Dean. We can watch _Terminator_.”

“No. _The Last Picture Show_. What the fuck is it?”

“Nothing. It’s in black and white.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, I just—”

“I’m not stupid, Sam.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Are you sure you didn’t say that? Because I don’t know, over here on my end, it feels like you said that.”

“I didn’t say that, Dean.”

“You think I can’t watch a black and white movie, that’s what you said. You think I can’t watch a black and white movie? I’ve seen _Godzilla_ like, a hundred times. I’ve seen _Godzilla versus Mothra_ more times than that.”

“I—it’s really different than _Godzilla_.”

“That was a joke.”

“Oh. I didn’t—I guess I didn’t—sorry.”

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“What do you want for dinner?”

“I’ll have this.”

“You got to have something besides a Snickers bar. How about Cheetos?”

“I don’t want Cheetos.”

“You like Cheetos.”

“I said I don’t want any.”

“Okay, but you have to have something else. For like vitamins and shit. How about Hostess?”

“Hostess doesn’t have any vitamins.”

“Yeah. Okay. What about a noodle cup?”

“Come on, Dean. I’m just having Snickers.”

“You like noodle cups.”

“Okay, I’ll have a noodle cup.”

“And Hostess.”

“Why?”

“Because Hostess is good. And you like Hostess.”

“Will you stop telling me things I like? Just because you want to get them.”

“Well, you got to have more than a Snickers bar, and you’re not telling me what you want.”

“Hey, they have Handi-snacks.”

“You want a Handi-snack?”

“I like Handi-snacks.”

“Dude, Sammy, you say you want a Handi-snack and you can get a freaking Handi-snack, okay? You can’t live on Snickers.”

“You live on candy bars.”

“I live on Little Debbie.”

“Like I said.”

“Whatever. Wanna rootbeer?”

“Sprite.”

 

**After Stanford**

“What do you want for dinner?”

“I’ll have this.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s called a vegetable, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s in a quiche, Dean.”

“Yeah, but what is with this—”

“It’s frozen, Dean. Dude, it’s like a pizza. You’ll probably even like it.”

“It’s _like_ a pizza. It is not a pizza.”

“Because it’s a quiche.”

“You do know this is what old ladies eat, don't you, Sam?”

“Old ladies eat Little Debbie.”

“I wanna know the old ladies you know.”

“That’s sick.”

“Okay, but you got to get something else. What about a noodle cup?”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Come on, you like noodle cups.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“A Handi-snack?”

“Come on. I’m not five.”

“You like Handi-snacks.”

“I said I’m good.”

“Christ. Are you going to tell me you don’t like Handi-snacks now? What, are you too good for a Handi-snack or a noodle cup now, and all you can eat is quiche?”

“You know, you could eat quiche too.”

“Seriously, what is with you? Nothing is good enough, and it’s like I—”

“It’s not that.”

“Well what the fuck is it, then, if you—”

“I still like Handi-snacks.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you like Handi-snacks or not. You just—”

“It's not the food, Dean. Really. I'm sorry. It's—it’s the packaging.”

“I—what?”

“The individual packaging. It’s just such a waste. And everywhere we go we get so much plastic, and then we just throw it all away, and I know we kind of have to, eating at pretty much every convenience store we see, it just adds up, you know?”

“No. I don’t.”

“It’s a lot of trash, is all I’m saying.”

“It’s a noodle cup, Sam.”

“It’s a carbon footprint.”

“It’s a carbon food print. Food, like you need to eat.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“You wanna ride the bus instead? What, you wanna walk? We can make our clothes out of what, hemp ropes, and you can recycle our pee? What, you want that?”

“No. I mean, if it made sense, we could ride the bus; I just mean—”

“I cannot believe you even just said that.”

“No, but I mean, it doesn’t make sense. For us, I mean—”

“Whatever. Dude, just whatever, Sammy.”

“We don’t need a plastic bag, either.”

“What?”

“For the groceries. I mean, I brought a backpack.”

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“What were you listening to?”

“Nothing.”

“What were you listening to? Oh God. Christ. You were listening to U2. You were listening to U2, weren’t you? That’s why you turned it off.”

“I wasn’t listening to U2.”

“You were. Dude, you were rocking out. Sammy, you were rocking out to _U2_.”

“There’s nothing wrong with U2.”

“Everything’s wrong with U2.”

“Dude, everyone listens to U2.”

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with U2. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with everyone: they all listen to U2.”

“Okay, just because it isn’t Iron Maiden doesn’t mean it automatically sucks.”

“Yeah. It could be Deep Purple.”

“There’s nothing wrong with U2.”

“Next you’re gonna be listening to Ninety-eight Degrees.”

“You’re sick. You know that? There’s something wrong with you.”

“You love it.”

“I’m getting headphones.”

“Go ahead. Listen to your Backstreet Boys.”

“I can’t hear you.”

 

**After Stanford**

“What were you listening to? I . . . you were listening to talk radio?”

“ _This American Life_.”

“What?”

“It’s _This American Life_.”

“What’s American life?”

“It’s a program. On NPR. They tell stories about people’s lives. Just—you know, shit that happens in people’s lives.”

“I—oh. You listen to talk radio.”

“It’s not actually talk radio.”

“Yeah. But you listen to talk radio.”

“I don’t listen to Rush Limbaugh, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You—I . . . this guy sounds like a dweeb.”

“It’s Ira Glass.”

“Ira Glass.”

“Yeah. He sort of is a dweeb. But he’s cool.”

“He’s a cool dweeb.”

“Look at who you’re talking to, Dean.”

“You are in no way cool, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You listen to talk radio. Name one way in which you are cool.”

“I don’t listen to U2 anymore.”

“Guess college is good for something.”

“I can get headphones again.”

“No. No, you can’t get headphones. We are not going through another year of that.”

“What?”

“You listening to Matchbox 20 when it’s supposed to be Metallica!”

“Okay, Dean. We can listen to Metallica.”

“No. Fine. You want talk radio, you got talk radio.”

“Dean.”

“American life. Rush Limbaugh. You got it.”

“Dean.”

“Whatever, I can do NPR.”

“Dean. I want to listen to Metallica.”

“Shut up, bitch. I’m listening to Ira Glass.”

“You are so classy.”

 

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“Han shot first.”

“Okay, but here’s the thing about _Star Wars_.”

“Sam, don’t say it.”

“Luke and Leia.”

“You always say it.”

“She _kissed_ him.”

“It was a ‘fuck you’ to Han.”

“Yeah. But she _kissed_ him.”

“Dude, she didn’t know.”

“Yeah. But he’s her _brother_.”

“She didn’t know!”

“Don’t you still kinda think it’s gross?”

“She didn’t know. It was a fuck you to Han.”

“So that makes it okay.”

“Yeah, that makes it okay.”

“But don’t you still think it’s kinda gross?”

“No.”

“You don’t think it’s gross.”

“No. I think it’s kinda hot.”

“Ew. What? Ew. She’s his sister!”

“But she didn’t know. And she was trying to make Han jealous. That’s hot. Bet she’s a wildcat in the sack.”

“Dude. Dean. We’re talking about Leia.”

“Yeah. I bet she’s a real hot fuck.”

“You can’t talk about Princess Leia that way.”

“Whatever. Why not?”

“Because she’s Princess Leia. And also she’s with Han.”

“Whatever.”

“They have babies. They have twins.”

“Oh my God. Did you read novels?”

“What?”

“You did. You read novels. You are such a nerd. Anyway, I could take Han Solo.”

“Han Solo would kick your ass.”

“Whatever. Whatever, just because you’re in love with him.”

“What? Ew. Ew, no. I’m not in love with—ew. I like Leia.”

“Whatever, man. Whatever. Do you know who I like? I like—”

“Lando Calrissian.”

“He has a _cape_.”

“He’s a traitor.”

“For the good of the people, Sammy. Keep up.”

“It’s a trap!”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I still think the Luke and Leia thing is gross.”

 

**After Stanford**

“Han shot first.”

“George Lucas is an idiot.”

“Yep.”

“Know who else is an idiot?”

“Great, Sam. Here we go.”

“Steven Speilberg. That whole lot.”

“What?”

“They haven’t done anything good since the seventies.”

“What happened to Luke and Leia?”

“What do you mean, what happened to Luke and Leia?”

“Aren’t you going to talk about how it’s gross?”

“What?”

“The kissing thing. Sam. The kissing thing; it’s gross.”

“Oh. No. I mean, I don’t think so any more.”

“You don’t think so any—what?”

“Well, _Star Wars_ is so archetypal.”

“So . . . what?”

“Sublimated incestuous desire is a common element in a lot of literature.”

“I—what?”

“Freud. I mean, that’s why Oedipus is famous.”

“That dude slept with his mother.”

“Yeah, but a lot of people have that repressed desire.”

“Um. What?”

“It’s not unnatural, Dean. And if you put it in the text, I don’t know, it makes a stronger narrative.”

“Guys fucking their moms makes a stronger narrative.”

“I didn’t say guys fucking their moms. Repressed desire.”

“You think there’s repressed desire in _Star Wars_.”

“No. I mean, there might be. There are things people feel that they don’t realize they feel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“All I’m saying is that _Star Wars_ capitalizes on a lot of basic human emotion, and there’s a lot of metaphors for—”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m just saying that it’s not that weird.”

“Shut up. I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You never thought it was weird.”

“I didn’t—whatever. Whatever, it’s like you’re speaking another language.”

“Dean, you were the one who never thought it was weird.”

“Because you thought it was weird!”

“So one of us has to think it’s weird?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because—because—because it’s weird! It’s weird, Sammy. Leia kissing Luke is weird.”

“Oh.”

“You get it, right?”

“No.”

“It’s weird.”

“Okay.”

“It’s disgusting, actually.”

“Then you don’t want me to talk about the homoeroticism between Han and Luke, huh.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. Your innocence is safe with me.”

“Seriously, what?”

“Nothing, Dean.”

“I don’t—shut up. Just shut up.”

“Look at me, I’m shutting up.”

“Okay. Okay, you stay that way. Stay shut up. Han shot first.”

“Yeah. That was hot.”

“I—shut up!”

“Any time, Dean.”

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“Can’t believe they wouldn’t let me buy a gun.”

“I told you we should wait for Dad.”

“I told you you need one now.”

“I can use the shotgun.”

“Don’t be stupid. You need precision.”

“I can use the rifle.”

“You need a handgun, Sammy. God. Who makes these fucking laws, anyway?”

“The government. I’m pretty sure.”

“Why the fuck do we need laws about who can buy a gun?”

“Um. Maybe so the wrong people don’t get them?”

“What the fuck ever. I thought Dubya was president.”

“He still is.”

“Who voted for him, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Republicans?”

“Don’t Republicans like guns?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe we should try Texas.”

“Republicans like Texas.”

“Maybe the laws are different there.”

“They should have laws that say, if you’re killing golems, you can get a gun.”

“I don’t think the government knows about the golems.”

“Well, whatever. There should be special laws.”

“Maybe there just shouldn’t be golems.”

 

**After Stanford**

“Can’t believe they wouldn’t let me buy a gun.”

“I told you to stop using that I.D.”

“God. Who makes these fucking laws, anyway?”

“Pretty sure it’s still the government, Dean.”

“Obama. Whatever, man.”

“I like Obama.”

“Of course you like Obama. Of course you fucking like Obama.”

“You don’t like Obama?”

“No, Obama’s cool.”

“But you wanted John McCain.”

“What? I didn’t want anyone.”

“You wanted John McCain. At least we all know he knows how to shoot a gun.”

“I didn’t want John McCain. I didn’t want anyone. Who votes for these people anyway?”

“I did.”

“I—you what?”

“I voted for Obama.”

“What?”

“I voted for Obama.”

“But, Sam. You’re not—when did you do that?”

“I voted absentee. I had it sent to Dad’s P.O. Box.”

“Dad’s P.O. Box.”

“Yeah.”

“Sam, you’re not even the resident of a state.”

“Kansas.”

“You got an absentee ballot and you voted for Barak Obama. As a resident of Kansas. From Dad’s P.O. Box.”

“Yes?”

“You care about this stuff, don’t you.”

“I voted for Kerry last time.”

“For Kerry.”

“Yeah.”

“Sam. You’re a fucking Democrat.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“What? No.”

“Are you a Republican?”

“What? God, no.”

“It’s okay if you’re a Republican, Dean.”

“What? I’m nothing. I’m not affiliated. It’s stupid. It’s all so goddamn stupid.”

“But you think Sarah Palin is hot.”

“I do not think Sarah Palin is—”

“I believe the phrase was, mother I’d like to—”

“That doesn’t make me a fucking Republican. I can’t believe you voted.”

“I voted for gun control, too.”

“I—what?”

“I don’t think people should have guns. I mean, other people.”

“What?”

“That’s how come I’m not a Democrat.”

“What are you even saying?”

“You were right. There should be special laws. And that’s wrong, and that’s how come I’m not a Democrat.”

“You think about this stuff way too much.”

“Guns shouldn’t be easy to get.”

“You make things hard, you know that?”

“Yeah, Dean. I know that.”

“I mean. It’s okay. It’s okay that you make things hard.”

“Thanks.”

“Really, Sammy. I think—I think Mom would’ve liked it.”

“Liked what?”

“I dunno. That you voted. That you’re from Kansas. Barak Obama.”

“Okay. That’s—thanks. Thank you.”

† † †

**Before Stanford**

“And that one’s called Jimmy Page.”

“That is not called Jimmy Page.”

“Shut up and listen, bitch.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not even a star.”

“It’s called Jimmy Page, and you see that one? That’s Robert Plant.”

“Pretty sure that’s an airplane, Dean.”

“That one over there is John Paul Jones.”

“Or maybe it’s like a watch tower.”

“That’s a different song, Sammy.”

“Okay. Fine. Where’s Bonham?”

“That’s Bonham.”

“That doesn’t look like a Bonham star.”

“Shut up, that star is Bonham.”

“Shouldn’t it be blowing up or something?”

“It is. That’s why it’s bright.”

“Fine. But it doesn’t look like Bonham.”

“This constellation is known in mythology as Zeppelin.”

“Original.”

“There used to be another constellation called the Yardbirds. See that star over there? That’s Paul Samwell-Smith.”

“Where’s Jeff Beck?

“That one over there. But then Jimmy Page came on the scene—”

“A star is born.”

“You did not just say that.”

“I said that.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“Whatever, Steisand. That one over there is Terry Reid. Reid suggested Jimmy Page hook up with Richard Plant to make this other constellation.”

“This is a good story.”

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

“I am shut up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Do you think Dad’s gonna come back soon?”

“So then there was this constellation called the New Yardbirds.”

“I meant it, Dean. I like this story.”

“I know.”

“He’s been gone a long time.”

“Got enough room, Sammy?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got enough room.”

“Dad’s gonna come back soon. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know that. What’s that one up there?”

“That one’s Dreja. He doesn’t matter.”

“Can the moon be Keith?”

“Yeah, Sammy. The moon can be Keith.”

 

**After Stanford**

“That one’s called Ritchie Blackmore.”

“I’m pretty sure you named that one Steve Harris.”

“Nuh-uh. That one over there’s Steve Harris.”

“No way. That’s Ozzy Osbourne.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Dean, I’m pretty sure I’d remember the Ozzy Osbourne star. You taught me that one when I was like, seven.”

“Oh.”

“And that one’s Bruce Dickinson. And that one’s Nicko McBrain.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Sam. How do you know?”

“What do you mean, how do I know?”

“I mean, you sound like you _know_. Like you know which star I named which.”

“What, you don’t keep track of them?”

“Sort of. I mean, I recognize some of them. But there’re—I dunno, man. There’re a lot of a stars.”

“Yeah, but Arcturus was always Steve Harris. Bootes was always Iron Maiden.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. What?”

“Nothing, Sam.”

“What?”

“What’s that one?”

“That one? I told you, Dean. It’s Ozzy Osbourne.”

“I know. I mean—what’s it really called?”

“What do you mean, what’s it—oh. Oh. Um. Vega. I think.”

“Yeah. Okay. What’s that one?”

“Um, it’s . . . I think it’s Altair.”

“And that one?”

“Cygnus. I mean, it’s the swan constellation. That’s Deep Purple.”

“Deep Purple’s a swan.”

“Yeah. I—there’s a legend. It’s Chinese. About Vega and Altair.”

“Ozzy and?”

“Led Zeppelin. You—the Summer Triangle. It was Led Zepplin, Black Sabbath, and Deep Purple.”

“Fitting. I guess.”

“Yeah. In the legend, it’s—it’s two lovers. And they’re separated. And the swan builds a bridge between them.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“I took—it was a cultural anthropology class. About the constellations.”

“Okay. I know the North Star.”

“I liked yours better.”

“Sam. I want to know yours.”

“You don’t have t—”

“What is even with you, anyway? I want to know yours.”

“Okay. Fine. Fine, I’ll teach you.”

“Sammy?”

“What?”

“I don’t hate you for going to college.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m having a big fucking revelation here, and all I get is yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Bitch.”

“I’m glad I went. I’m glad I had a chance to do the things I thought I needed to.”

“You thought you needed to?”

“Maybe I did need to. But this is more important. And I don’t need to know Aquila, or the Summer Triangle.”

“You don’t need to know Led Zepplin either.”

“No. But I like it.”

“I like knowing Vega. Or whatever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It sounds like a good story. And who knows, maybe someday we’ll have to fight a killer swan bridge.”

“A killer swan bridge.”

“You don’t know. All the stories are true.”

“That’s how come I like Led Zepplin.”

“Do you have enough room?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have enough room.”

“Sammy?”

“What?”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“The North Star is called Polaris.”


End file.
